Cities of Love
by jackiekennedy
Summary: Against the backdrop of several famous landmarks, Puck and Quinn struggle to make sense of themselves, of each other, and of these cities of love.
1. London

_Another very odd Puck and Quinn story of mine I'll own up to. I know, I know. They're just getting stranger and stranger._

_**Official Summary: **__After his mother dies unexpectedly, Puck decides to embark on a dream she was never able to achieve: to travel all around Europe. He takes her spot in a cheap tour group with an unconscious hope to put himself back together. There, he meets the unpredictable and beautiful Quinn Fabray, who may just be as broken as he is. Against the backdrop of several famous landmarks, they struggle to make sense of themselves, of each other, and of these cities of love._

_Enjoy reading! :)_

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Noah Puckerman sits silently in his seat, unconsciously twisting a forgotten pamphlet in his hand.

The turbulence of the plane kicks it up another notch, and he feels himself jerk somewhat against the stranger next to him; he gives him a strained, apologetic smile and looks away.

He then remembers what's in his hands, and he starts twisting it just a bit more.

Suddenly, the pamphlet is in shreds, and he looks down at his lap to examine the mess he just made. He brushes the scraps off, glancing around a few times to make sure no one else sees. But his hands feel instantly _empty, _and he lets his fingers stretch out repeatedly before resting his chin on his wrist.

He's been on a plane for eight fucking hours. So he's a little on edge, fucking sue him, please.

The pilot says something about looking out the window, and after a beat, Puck stifles a sigh before pulling up the shade. He blinks twice, the foreign sunlight blaring into his eyes, and he glances out and sees shaded greenery take form miles and miles below him.

Awesome. Grass.

That's fucking new.

For a split second, he wonders if this is a mistake. He's watching the trees poke out of the ground like a children's pop-up book, and now he's getting just a little stressed. It's not so much about him being selfish; fuck, he knows he is. That's not the issue. All he's really concerned about is if he's wasting his time.

But then he thinks about his mom, and lines blur and seeing straight becomes a bit difficult.

A flight attendent walks by, and he nudges her elbow slightly. He motions for her to fetch him a shot of whiskey, and she gives him a smile that practically screams _Mile High Club_.

Suddenly, he feels a lot better.

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**London, England**

He squints at the sky.

God damn, it's moody here.

He stuffs a hand in his jeans, an unimpressed frown tinkering at his lips. He's got one lonely sack hanging over his shoulder, and he wishes he was a better packer because it looks like he's going to wear the same jacket for the next few days.

There's a guy in the front with a bright orange shirt, and he dramatically gestures them to board the bus. Puck runs a hand through his shaved head before heaving a sigh and complying.

He sits in the farthest corner, away from the rest of the bubbly tour group. He immediately dubs them all as either wrinkly old couples or dysfunctional families of four. He spots a few indie college students, loud and exclusively grouped, and Puck mentally waves them off.

He's already picked out in his head the ones he's going to fuck by the end of the trip, MILFs included.

He reaches into his bag and snakes out a set of headphones, readying himself to wash the world away.

"Is this seat taken?"

He suddenly hears a rushed voice coming from his right, and when he turns to look at her, he _looks at her_. She's young, maybe a year or two younger than him, fairy blond hair and porcelain skin. She reminds him a bit of flower, with her rosy cheeks and gentle green eyes, and he casually pats the cushion next to him. "All yours," he smirks somewhat.

She gives him the tinniest hint of a smile. "I'm Quinn."

She doesn't stick out a hand, so he doesn't either. "Puck."

That's how she enters his life: an untouchable hurricane he never saw coming.

It's only the calm before the storm.

….

The next morning, he's standing just outside Big Ben, his neck craned all the way back to the sky. He lets out a low whistle and sifts through his pocket to pull out the disposable camera his sister Sarah gave him.

He takes one lazy shot before stuffing it back into his jeans.

"It's so pretty, huh?" He glances over and sees Quinn standing next to him, a glittery kind of look in her eyes. She gazes over at him and beams lightly. "It's really something, don't you think?"

He shrugs. "Sure."

"Gosh," she swoons, wrapping her sweater tighter around her chest. "Doesn't it just remind you of _Peter Pan_? The Darling children flying over London? Pixie dust and happy thoughts? Doesn't it just make you think of _that_?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen _Peter Pan_."

Quinn looks at him like he's just killed a puppy. "What?"

He's not sure if he should repeat it because the expression on her face kind of makes him want to kill himself. But she's gazing up at him expectantly, as if he's about to take back what he said at any moment. So Puck sighs loudly and scratches the back of his neck, zoning out the historical facts their tour guide is throwing at them. "I mean, I've heard about it. I'm not an idiot. Tinkerfairy, right?"

She scrunches her nose. "Tinkerbell."

"Same good shit," he waves a hand in the air. He's surprised when she starts laughing, and he's even more surprised when it's a sound he swears he's never fucking heard before. It's silky – _buttery –_ and he doesn't even know how that can even happen, but there she stands, her giggles captivating him, and he can't stop looking at her.

Puck licks his lips and motions his head over his shoulder. "You hungry?"

Just when he thinks she's going to say no, she says, "Yes."

They fall back from the rest of the group and wander to the nearest tube.

….

He really fucking hates coffee.

But he thinks about his mom, and he knows this is what she would want to do: sit in the front of Caffe Nero, sipping some bitter mocha and watching the busy people walk by.

God, he thinks he even ordered a latte or some shit like that.

Quinn is smiling up at him, her chin resting on the bend of her wrist. He feels his face twist into a smirk.

It's his turn. "Favorite sexual position," he raises an eyebrow.

"Mm," She takes a sip from her lemonade and plays with the ice chips on her tongue. "Never ask a girl that."

"Why not?"

"They always end up disappointed." He grins at her as she bites the ice cube in between her teeth. "Favorite _Recess_ character."

"Spinelli," he doesn't miss a beat. "She was badass." She laughs that same laugh, and he'll do what ever he can to keep hearing it. "Favorite Beatles song."

"_Run for your Life_."

He's genuinely surprised. "Everybody hates that song."

"That's why I like it," she quips, "it's all mine."

Puck doesn't really no what to make of that, so he reaches for his coffee and takes a gulp. He feels the sudden heat burn his mouth, and he clenches his teeth. "Fuck," he mutters. "It's hot."

He hears the ice chip rolling around her mouth, drawing out each lick as she raises an eyebrow at him. He's pretty sure the world decides to go into slow motion when she leans in and pulls the collar of his shirt towards her. She presses her mouth very softly against his before gentle tugging his lower lip with her teeth. Her cold tongue sends a shiver down his spine as she transfers the ice cube into his, and Quinn briefly slides her tongue over the roof of his mouth, leaving a chilling taste as she falls back into her seat.

He fucking loves coffee.

….

She's leaning against a brick wall, her eyes to the sky as she lets a cigarette dance between her lips. He's surprised to learn that she smokes, because it's kind of like watching an angel take a drag and exhale some kind of sinful puff. But he can't help but think how much she looks like she belongs there, pressed against a wall with a cancer stick secured between two fingers.

Then again, he's not sure what he expected out of a place called Piccadilly Circus. He takes things too literally sometimes and pictures, well, an actual _circus_, but what he's looking at is like Times Square on acid.

He likes it.

The neon colors have since begun to swirl, and okay, so he's a little drunk. But there's been a pub down every street he's been on so far, and he doesn't mind living his life like this. He watches as the lines start to blur, coiling around him like a rattlesnake.

He watches Quinn toss her cigarette on the floor, a look of distaste in her eyes as she smashes it with her foot. "I hate smoking," she suddenly says out loud, like the whole world was listening to her.

He leans in towards her, the smell of smoke and perfume numbing his brain. "Let's leave," he breathes in her ear, and he stares at the goose bumps that trail her neck.

….

Her lips graze the line of his jaw, and they stagger backwards and nearly trip over his unpacked duffel bag. He catches his fingers in her hair, and she releases a noise that makes his head spin and chest expand. Their kisses are greedy, like there just isn't enough, and her hands tighten around his back as she fists his shirt with her fingers and drags it off him.

They're stumbling around, refusing to break the kiss, and he knows they won't make it to the bed without toppling over _something_. So he pins her down on the floorboard, and as he puts a hand behind her head, she pushes it away and tugs him closer towards her.

He yanks at her shirt and Quinn licks his neck, like there's something under his skin she wants to get. He lifts her slightly, fumbling with the clasp of her bra, and he's so fucking _frustrated_ right now that he yanks it off carelessly with his teeth.

There's a soft rustle as the fabric scatters on the floor, and he presses his mouth against her left breast, taking her nipple in between his lips and circling his tongue around it. He feels her arch against him, moaning against his touch as she curls her fingers around his neck.

He moves to taste the skin between her breasts, and he can hear the impatience in her groans as she moves to unbuckle his belt. He tattoos frantic little kisses roughly against her skin, tracing his name on her stomach, and he groans into her right breast when she presses his cock into her palm.

_Fuck_.

His hands seek her hips as she guides him into her, and he lowers himself as she moans something, something that sounds a lot like _his_ name. His fingers dig into her hips as she rolls them, ever so teasingly, and he growls somewhat as he places both his hands on either side of her and pins her – like a butterfly against a board.

He raises her hips and lowers himself, his fingernails cutting through her skin as he thrusts forcefully into her. He hears her shoulders bang roughly against the floorboard, and she kisses his lips to stop her voice from croaking out his name like a crack of thunder.

He thrusts harder, a hand fisting in her hair. "Say it," he murmurs against her neck.

Her cheeks are red and her breath shallow. "_Oh_... my God."

He lowers himself, feeling his chest burn as she whimpers. "_Say it._"

She arches her back, and her eyes roll to the ceiling. "_Puck_," she finally manages between her little gasps, and he drives into her so hard that her nails dig helplessly into the floor. Slowly, she manages to lift herself to his chest, and he swears he sees her eyebrow raise as she presses her lips against his nipple ring, sliding her tongue around it and pulling it gently with her teeth.

He groans and she circles her hips once more, desperately scratching his back as he tips his head to the ceiling and fucks her harder and harder until she becomes completely limp and dissolves into him.

….

When he wakes up the next morning, she's not there.

He's not surprised, but he can't help but feel a little disappointed.

After a quick shower, Puck shuffles out of his hotel room, past the elevator, and bounds for the staircase (he's not in the mood for standing still). When he walks into the lobby, he finds the tour guide waving frantically at him, pointing at the imaginary watch on his wrist, and mouthing "_you're late_."

Puck hates it when people do that. He never points at his cock when he needs to pee.

He can't find Quinn right away, and when he boards the back of the bus, he avoids searching for blond tuffs of hair poking out of one of the seats. He's just not _that_ guy, but he has to physically crane his neck towards the window as they drive by Buckingham Palace.

He remembers Sarah and tries to take a picture of it, but he realizes he left the camera back in his room.

….

He finds her sitting on the upper deck of the boat, her head tilted back and eyes snapped shut. Puck takes one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it into the Thames River and retreats towards her.

When he sits down, a smile flickers at her lips as her eyelids flutter open slowly.

They both fall back in silence as the Tower Bridge lifts above them, and he spots the London Eye and wonders what it would be like to be stuck spinning on there forever. A familiar feeling finds its way to his chest as he looks away and glances at Quinn. He watches her sigh, her little pink lips forming a small pout as he leans his elbows on his knees.

"Tell me a secret," she says softly to him, her voice thin as air.

He gazes out into the water and looks for the line where the sky and earth meet. "My mom died two weeks ago," he tells her, and it sounds _so_ different when he says it out loud.

Puck feels her settle next to him as she sinks deeper into her seat. "Was it your fault?"

He glances at her. "Yeah."

Quinn gives him a small look and purses her lips. "But _you _are not dead, Puck," she tells him. "So stop acting like you are."

And the way she says it, it's like she's scolding him. Maybe that's the thing about this world. Maybe everyone is hurting, and he could be sitting next to a completely broken person and never know it.

She leans into him and rests her head on his shoulder, and they look out at the water together and watch themselves drown.

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_Please review! :)_


	2. Madrid

_You guys make me happy. Like really happy. I'm a happy bunny. I have the best readers in the entire world. Just ignore me 'cause I'm stalling you from reading the next chapter. Onto some more smoking, smutty!Quick._

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**Madrid, Spain**

He loves bullfights.

Forget the frilly hats and red capes; Puck would go apeshit on that animal and show it who the real beast was.

He glances over at Quinn. She's leaning forward with her chin between her wrists, watching the arena very intently and... are her eyes hooded? Fuck. Is she turned on by this?

He licks his lips and leans in her ear. "Someone's excited."

Quinn glances at him and winks before turning her attention back to the center. They watch another round before she puts a hand on his thigh, one eyebrow raised to the sky. "Let's not live like common people, okay?" she tells him. "Let's be better than that."

He stares at her for a second before smirking. "And what if we can't?" he counters.

"Let's pretend we can."

….

There's so much sweat, so many _bodies_, and he runs his tongue across the mouth of some girl he met literally two minutes ago. She pushes herself against him, whispering some sweet Spanish notes into his ear when he sees Quinn across the way, twirling in the crowd with a shot in the air.

He doesn't remember how they get separated, because going to Macumba was _her_ idea. But Puck suddenly realizes he's not like her as she laughs with a young crowd from their tour group; she _likes_ people. She likes the feeling under their glow, to be surrounded by smiles and not feel so alone.

He's been drunk since noon time, so he doesn't even realize he's walking towards her until he no longer feels the weight of the other girl pressing against his side. He watches as Quinn tosses her jacket at some vague direction, throwing her arms in the air like she's shedding her skin.

But ignoring her is like a magnet trying to avoid the pull of another: impossible.

And when he approaches her, she leans in his ear and he catches the whiff of red wine on her lips. "Come with me," and she giggles a bit and tugs on his wrist as they escape through the crowds.

She pushes him into the women's restroom, and the moment they stumble into a stall, she rings her arms around his neck as he pushes her against the door. Her teeth nips at his bottom lip as he bunches her emerald dress well past her hips. Their tongues war with each other, rough and delicious, and he hungrily tugs the waistband of her lacy underwear. Quinn immediately hooks her thighs around his waist as he pins her against the wall.

He feels her smile against his mouth, her tongue twisting around his. She reaches down to fumble with the zipper of his pants, but he slides a finger into her and she instantly shudders against him. "Fuck," she throws her head against the wall, a weak _bang_ echoing as she tugs helplessly at his collar. He grins and presses his thumb against her clit, and she bites her lip to stifle the sudden urge to cry out. He eases another finger in and she shuts her eyes and gasps silently, her hands reaching out grab to something, _anything_.

"Fuck me," she commands softly in his ear, her words slightly slurred together. The music pumps louder outside the bathroom, and she scratches his neck closer towards her, her sharp nails leaving red lines down his back.

He smirks at the sound of his own thumping heart. "Oh, I fucking intend to," and he lifts her a little higher before driving into her with a single fierce thrust.

"_Jesus_," she curses and whimpers, and her little voice is driving him so fucking insane that he thrusts harder and harder until she gasps his name in her ear. Puck slams into her so hard, he watches amusingly as one of her shiny heels falls off her foot, clattering onto the floor with a dull thud. Her hips bang mercilessly against the stall, rattling it so loudly he thinks he might just fuck her through the wall, and when she says his name one more time – _in that fucking voice_ – his nerves melt to wax and he grinds his hipbone into hers and lets his face fall into the curve of her neck as he comes apart inside her.

….

They stroll through Retiro Park, the morning sun blazing through their skin as she bends towards a pink flower and sniffs it. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks up at the clouds, wondering if _maybe _answers are really written in the sky. He spots a puff that looks like turtle but nothing else, and he looks over at Quinn and frowns.

"Why are you here?" Puck asks, and she plucks the flower from the stem.

"That's a rude question," she bites back airily. She raises the flower towards the sky, her eyes tracing the petals for any imperfections.

"I meant here, on this trip," he repeats, his brow furrowing. Quinn continues to ignore him, picking at the stem and twirling it under the sunlight, and he feels himself becoming frustrated. "What? Were you just feeling bored one day and daddy paid it all for you?"

He watches as two green eyes flash dangerously at him. "Don't talk to me like you _know_ me."

"I'm curious," he says smugly, folding his arms across his chest. "Or is it some kind of girl thing? Did you just want to go to Europe to _discover yourself_?" He taunts her, spitting out the last two words.

Puck doesn't know why he's so angry; he just suddenly realizes he is, and she's there, so now it's her fault.

Quinn squints up at him, blond hair flying all around her face as she pinches the flower in between her fingers. "What the fuck happened to you?" she asks, and he blinks because there's honesty laced with her malice.

"You wouldn't get it," he waves her off and walks away. Suddenly, he feels a tug on his wrist as she presses the pink flower against his chest; it crumbles to his feet.

"You don't get to walk away," Quinn tells him plainly. "You don't get to be the one who walks away." And he doesn't know why he can't move when she leaves him there. He just suddenly feels really empty, so he yells _fuck_ to the sky and hopes God is listening.

….

Puck watches people weave in and out of the street, the rich smell of chocolate floating in the air. He glances up at the buildings with pointed roofs, striking the air like the tip of a fountain pen, and he feels a little bad for the birds out here.

He sees their tour guide (he really should learn his fucking name) gesture for the group to regather, and Puck pulls out a cigarette and a cheap lighter from his pocket.

He stares at the flame and doesn't move for a long time.

….

A group of them are having dinner together, wine glasses clinking as the sound of flamenco music envelopes the atmosphere. He purposely places himself next to Quinn, and she gives him a small look before picking at a plate of tapas.

He feels his pride slipping as he leans into her ear and mutters, "Look, I'm sorry if I hurt you. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

She gives him a short smile and takes a sip from her glass. "Nobody hurts me."

"Good, because I wasn't going to take it back," Puck retaliates, and he immediately feels like an idiot.

She grabs a tooth pick and stabs a plump, green olive. "You can forgive," she begins, "but never forget." He watches her twirl the olive in her mouth, and she licks it once before biting down on it and sucking on the tooth pick.

Puck glares at her.

She laughs at him, teasing him gently as she repeats her action. This time, she opens her mouth a little wider as he watches the olive slosh uselessly around her tongue, and when Quinn swallows, she moans a bit and licks each one of her fingers.

He's really starting to hate what she's doing to him.

….

They're on the way back to the hotel when she stops in front of Almudena Cathedral and kind of just stares at it. Puck stands next to her, and he doesn't even realize he's got a hand on her hip.

"What happened to your mom?" she breathes, and he sees, for the first time, an innocent little girl under all her layers.

"She had cancer," he says slowly, the words burning on his tongue. He doesn't like how she makes it so easy for him to talk aloud about this. "She was supposed to go on this trip. It was her biggest dream to travel the world, and I kept pushing for her to just go out there and experience everything. But a couple weeks beforehand, she was sent to the hospital. We thought it was just from exhaustion, but she died in my arms the next day."

Puck sees something like sympathy in her eyes, and he really hopes she doesn't start crying. "I took her spot because I didn't want her dream to go to waste," he continues. "I just wanted to finish something for her."

They sway under the night sky and gaze at the moon's reflection on the church bells. "Tell me a secret," he prompts her, and she closes her eyes and smiles.

"I want to be somebody's favorite person," she hums. "Like they can't live if I wasn't there. I want to be indispensable to _somebody_."

When she opens her eyes, he sees something like relief flicker across her face. Like she was lost before this, and now she finds herself outside her front door again. Quinn leans over and kisses him like he has the key.

He hears something rattle in his chest as he kisses her back. It's a kiss that makes his heart feel young again and disposes his years of anguish.

….

It starts out as slow, _sensual_, as he melts his lips against hers like molding clay. When she opens her mouth, he sweeps his tongue over her gums before tangling it with hers. He pulls her closer to him by her waist, and this time, she pulls her dress off herself.

Puck smirks. "It looked good on you," he murmurs into her lips. "It looks better on the floor."

He slams his mouth against hers to hush her protest, and her fingers carefully peel off his shirt as he tips her down on to the bed and lets her swim under the covers.

He hovers on top of her for a moment before moving in again, his lips branding on hers – like claiming her as his. She moans lazily as he travels down her neck and licks his way towards her stomach, dipping his tongue into her naval. Quinn spreads her legs a little wider as he rolls her panties off her legs with his teeth and presses his cheek against her inner thigh.

A helpless whimper slips past her lips as he brushes his tongue against her clit. He starts to circle it – his movements cool and slow – and he feels her slowly buckling underneath him. He slides a finger into her, and then another, and she's biting her lip so hard it makes him grin. He reaches a hand to cup her left breast as he alternates between licking and sucking, and when he presses his tongue lightly against her clit, Puck feels her thighs shake violently.

He sees her toes curl as he moves his mouth away, and something like a smile tugs both their lips.

And then there's a moment – he doesn't even know what the fuck just happened – but he becomes so lost in her honey blond hair, her green eyes, her flawless skin.

He suddenly feels so urgent because he wants _all of it_.

So when he leans back down, he massages her hips as he enters with a delicious thrust. She gasps lightly, and it becomes a strange sensation when he slows down, dipping into her at a more relaxed pace. Like they're both unwinding against each other as his skin tingles from the butterfly kisses she trails on his jaw. It's so foreign and _gentle_, he thinks he should feel uncomfortable with something as delicate as this, but she feels so fucking _soft _it's driving him a bit nuts.

He pants against her cheek as she wraps her fingers around his neck, placing gentle kisses around the skin near his ears. Her lips part as she drags her teeth down his neck and onto his shoulder, and he feels his hips falter slightly as she traces secret messages with her finger on his bare back.

And when their mouths meet again, he feels her shudder slightly as he strokes her neck and thrusts into her. His right arm drops next to her head, and she reaches for it and laces their fingers together. He pushes their hand deeper into the mattress and eases tenderly into her again, her back arching into him as both their bones start to tremble.

When she moans, she bites back his name until he lowers himself into her a few more times, and when she finally orgasms and lets it slip from her mouth, he feels his stomach catch on fire and burn up. Their fingers are still laced together, and they both cling onto each other as if they are about to fly away any second as he comes into her.

He doesn't believe he's shivering when she sweeps her tongue across his neck as he rolls off, and they both lay there quietly and pant against the sweaty sheets.

Slowly, so very slowly, she moves towards him and rests her head against his chest. He wraps an arm around her frame and pulls her in closer, and she sighs under the heated darkness.

"You're going to break my heart, aren't you?" she whispers in his ear. He doesn't say anything, and she settles into him. "I think I'm going to break yours, too."

He gazes directly into her eyes, and it's the first time they _really_ look at each other face to face.

Suddenly, Puck sees the little cracks she hides so well, the ones that are now breaking apart in front of him. He watches as small flecks of light try to fight through; light that is trying to get in and light that is trying to get out.

He wonders if she's starting to see the real him, too.

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_Please review._


	3. Rome

_Ahh! Thanks so much for all the reviews guys! You guys make me a happier than a Happy Meal. Enjoy the next chapter!_

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**Rome, Italy**

The both of them stand right on the outskirts, staring up at the Roman Coliseum with wide, bright eyes. She extracts the disposable from his pocket and snaps a picture, and he tinkers with the unlit cigarette in his lips. They watch as a good majority of the group decides to fall in line to enter the arena, but they fall back instead and let the building tower over them.

"It makes you feel so small, doesn't it?" she whispers, and he lights the cigarette and lets out a drag. "You just forget how small you really are until something bigger than you comes along."

Puck wonders if that's true. He wonders, for only a brief moment, what it would be like to physically fight for your life in the middle of an arena as a whole crowd of people stare down at you, hoping you'll stumble and fail.

He thinks it would feel a bit familiar.

His mom wouldn't be proud of him, he knows that much. Puck thinks about his promise to her, how he swore to her when she died he was going to go be _somebody. _He thinks about why it's so hard for him to do something _right._

And all he can do is stand outside the Coliseum, and it's so _fucked up_ that something like fear starts to wrap his entire body.

Quinn glances over at him, and the look in her eyes makes him clench slightly. She's staring at him – right fucking through him – like he can't hide anything. Their gaze doesn't break when she moves to face him, and god damn, he just feels so _exposed_.

Suddenly, she curls her arms around his neck and pulls him into a gentle embrace. "It's okay," she tells him in his ear. "A lot of us forget to breathe sometimes, too." He wants to push her off him, but instead, Puck pulls her in tighter and doesn't let go until he finds his lungs again.

….

"I mean, I get there's _history _behind it and whatever but it's like looking at a construction site - "

She presses her lips very softly again his, and he's momentarily stunned that he sucks his words back in. The kiss is brief - _chaste_ even. It's like being stuck in a traffic jam, _stop, go, stop, go, _little bites and pecks that aren't long enough to let him grab her by the back of her head and pry her tongue into his mouth. But she pulls back soon after and walks away to join the rest of the group.

And Puck can't help it - he follows.

...

He places a dollop of gelato right on her nipple and leans in to suck it clean. She arches her back and smiles deliciously, his concentration making her giggle.

Puck tilts her hips closer to him as kneels at the edge of the table, placing his head between her legs. He drops a scoop right at the top of her slit, letting it trail down as he run his tongue to lick it off. He does this again and again as she clutches the edge of the table until her knuckles turn white.

He darts his tongue inside her and sucks on her clit until she comes so hard, he feels her thighs tremor against him.

Suddenly, Quinn pushes him off of her, a steady hand on his chest as she forces him to fall against the bed. She's got a coy smile, and he lays down willingly as she places herself right on top of him. She drips the gelato all over his chest and spells out something – _his name_. She bends over and licks off each letter, slowly and thoroughly with her tongue, and he loses it when she slips her hand down his boxers.

Her fingers are warm and he arches into her palm as she gingerly pulls him out. She slips a hand under the head of his cock and gives it a few strokes before taking him in her mouth and swallowing him.

They collapse on the bed and lie there for a bit, both sticky and sweaty as the afternoon sun still beams through their curtains. Then she whispers something, and he's not sure if he was supposed to hear it, but he does anyways.

"This isn't supposed to happen."

….

Quinn pulls her sunglasses over her face and laughs that same fairy laugh at him. She closes her eyes tight and presses her palms together, slightly bouncing in her shoes and mumbling something to herself.

When she finally opens them, she takes the penny out of her hand with two fingers and tosses it eagerly into the Trevi Fountain. She leans over and watches it sink to the bottom, and Puck pulls out the camera and snaps a picture of her.

She whips her head towards him and smiles wider, a soft glow outlining her frame.

"What'd you wish for?" he calls to her and grins sparsely.

Puck pretends he doesn't understand her when she says, "A way out."

But the thing is, he knows exactly what she's talking about.

….

They sit across from each other; he slumps in his seat, and she crosses her legs daintily.

"I used to have a mohawk," he replies.

She turns pink and giggles loudly. "No, you did not!"

He nods and can't stifle his smile. "I made that shit look _good_."

She thinks for a second and takes a bite of her penne pasta. "I was the captain of the cheerleading team."

He rubs his chin somewhat and smirks. "I was the running back during high school."

"I was president of the Celibacy Club."

"No shit," he says, an eyebrow shooting in the air. There's a flash of a amusement that passes between them. "How did that work out for you?"

Her face suddenly scrunches, and there's a hint of seriousness in her eyes. "I didn't like who I was."

"Do any of us?"

She tilts her head towards one of the white statues looming over them and closes her eyes. "Yeah," she agrees with him. "I think life, no matter what, will always be painful. But I think... whenever we laugh in the face of it, whenever we _smile_, that's when _we_ win. And then you collect all your litte victories and build yourself over again until you're finally someone you want to be."

….

There's a small music shop near the piazza, and he picks up one of the guitars and strums it lightly.

They take it outside for a bit and sit on the curb, and he tinkers and tunes it as Quinn watches on curiously. She's gazing so intently at the careful work of his fingers that he has to smile, and when they lock eyes, she beams at him like a rising sun.

The rest of the world begins to fade away as he starts playing _"All My Loving"_, and she sings along.

That's when he realizes she's so much more fucking fragile than he thought.

….

Quinn presses herself closer next to him, her mouth lightly nuzzling his neck. She peels his hand away from his side and places it between her legs, and he arches an eyebrow at her lack of panties. They're sitting on the bench of their balcony, looking down at the people weaving in and out of the city lights. She runs a finger up his thigh, sends butterfly kisses down his jaw line, and straddles her legs on either side of him.

He reacts automatically and lets her hand pull down his zipper. There's laughter, honking, and mindless chatter dozens of feet below them, but he fists a hand into her hair as he hauls her tighter onto his lap. Puck presses in closer, just a bit, letting her feel how hard he is as she smiles against his cheek.

And something about the way she's bruising kisses onto his neck that he just has to ask it: "What happened to you, Quinn?"

He feels her flinch against his skin before capturing his lips and stroking her tongue over his. A curtain of butter waves fall over her face, and his spine stiffens as he disregards the question and bunches her skirt over her hips. She pushes his jeans down far enough, and he takes her right then and there – the sweat on their skin mixing with the cool air of the night.

Quinn sinks down into him and throws her head back, her fingers curled around his neck as she repeats her actions quickly and deliberately. He hangs onto her by her hips, his nails digging into to her skin as she arches further back. Her eyes squeeze shut as she lowers herself faster, biting her lip as her face turns pink. He kisses her shoulder and lets his head hang there for a second, and when she orgasms, she tries to bite it back to not call attention to all of Rome that they just fucked right in front of them.

She rolls off a second later and sits next to him, still panting heavily as he zips his jeans back up.

Suddenly, she stands up, her rose dress swaying right above her knees.

Puck wants to reach out for her, to pull her back down next to him, but when the fuck did he become _that_ guy?

And when she finally looks down at him, he watches as something snaps inside of her. He watches as something falls apart.

He sees tears border her eyes, and he imagines the sting she feels from the bitter air. Quinn takes a deep breath and glances out into the city, as if she just saw it all for the first time. She moves forward, just a bit, and presses a sweaty hand against the dirty railing.

"Do you think I can fly?"

He stands up from the bench and grabs her wrist, pulling her into him as he slams his lips against hers. Puck stifles her moans as she tries to wrangle away, and it's when she gives in that he disengages and looms over her ear. "Don't be fucked up," he tells her. It's when he presses his lips onto hers again that he tastes the salt from her tears.

….

He finds her sitting on the Spanish Steps the next morning, a cigarette in her mouth as she tries to light it.

When he goes over to sit next to her, Quinn doesn't acknowledge him. She lets the flame struggle against the wind before killing it, and she leans forward and takes a long drag.

The smell of her – jasmine and citrus – tangles with the smoke, and it's an aroma so familiar he feels himself cringe.

They watch as a small group of gypsy children scatter by, and Puck swears he sees one pickpocket the young couple right next to them. Soon after, an elderly man, a bit drunk and disorientated, stumbles in front of them, mumbles something, and gives them a Sign of the Cross. Quinn exhales another puff of smoke as the man trips over to the other person across from them and does the same thing.

"What's the one thing that scares you the most?" Quinn says, her eyes still fixated in front of them.

He leans back and extends his arms over the step above them. "Dying without dignity," he admits freely.

She shakes her head like she doesn't like the answer. "You don't die with dignity. You _live_ with dignity."

"And what scares you?"

"Life." He doesn't glance at her. "That's how you know you're alive, though. When you're afraid of something so much, you're terrified out of your mind you might lose it."

Puck throws her a wry look, his eyebrows knotting together. "What happened to you, Quinn?" he repeats, slower this time. She glances overs her shoulder and stares at him, and after a long moment, she takes a drag and blows the smoke in his face.

In an instant, she is up on her feet, and Quinn gives him one final look before frowning. "You're not good enough for me," she says, and he watches her walk down the stairs with blank eyes.

She takes him to the edge and leaves him dangling there.

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_Please review._


	4. Athens

_The reviews and readers I get for this story are mind-blowing. Seriously, you guys are a bunch cool cats. I'm so, so happy you all are liking this, and all your encouragement means the world to me! Now, forget my rambling - on to the story! :)_

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**Athens, Greece**

The truth is, Puck doesn't know shit about anything.

He stares up at the Parthenon and frowns, his eyebrows crinkling slowly together. He wishes he could care about the history of it all – the legends that force people to travels miles and miles to see this one structure and marvel at its existence.

He doesn't understand why the world couldn't just do that to people instead.

Puck strums his fingers lightly against his leg, the summer heat breathing in and out of his skin, and he barely hears their tour guide (whose name is Phil, apparently) ramble on and on about some goddess named Athena. And owls, he thinks he hears.

"_...construction on this building began in 447 BCE and continued until 438 BCE..."_

He stares deeper at the Parthenon, as if confronting it face to face, and he wonders if Athena is looking down at him right now, smirking at the mess he made.

"So," he mutters under his breath. "Where's that wisdom of yours?"

He half-expects a lightening bolt to strike him, and he's actually kinda _hoping_ for it. But nothing happens and he scowls, because that's just another person who decides to spite him.

….

He watches her from a far.

He thinks, if he gets to close, he might break her.

Puck suddenly feels like a little kid again. The one that stood by the front window all day and all night, waiting for his dad to come home while his mother cried a river in her bedroom. He was so fucking needy back then, so fucking bright-eyed that he couldn't see the truth when it slammed right him in the face. His father _left_, and the moment Puck realized he wasn't coming back, his mom picked him up, brushed him off, and took him and his sister out for grilled cheese sandwiches and ice cream. She told them how much _she_ loved them, and how they don't need _anyone_ stop them from being happy.

That was the day Puck grew a pair and stopped waiting by the window. But the wall he began to build around himself was so heavily guarded, his mother had to constantly coax him out to retain some hint of his humanity. So he would, on occasion, but it was only for her. It was always for her.

But now his mom is gone, and the wall becomes his skin.

He's not a child anymore. He's completely capable of taking care of himself.

But his mom is _dead_.

It suddenly hits him like a brick wall. He can wait and wait and wait by that fucking window for her to come back, but she's _gone. _He feels like shattered glass on the floor, people stepping around him like the broken mess he is, and every time Puck tries putting himself together, there's blood on his hands.

He flicks a cigarette to his lips because the wall is now starting to cave in, and he can't stop looking over at Quinn Fabray.

….

He calls up Sarah. The phone dials twice, and he hears a static fuzz before his sister practically screams in his ear. "Hey, world traveler!" she screeches, and he hears distant chatter in the background. "Oh my God, where are you right now?" she squeaks. "Wait. Is this call going to cost me a lot of money?"

"Shut the fuck up, Sarah," he hisses.

"Jeez, Puck. Calm the fuck down." He hears someone call for her in the distance, in which she replies "_in a minute!_" There's a bit more silence on the phone, and Puck reaches inside his pocket for another cigarette. "You didn't answer my question. Where are you?"

"Greece," he replies indifferently.

"Cool," he hears the excitement return to her voice. "What's it like there?"

There's a short pause. "Old."

"Well, aren't you Mister Fucking Sunshine," she snorts. "Have you been taking pictures?"

He pats the disposable camera in his jacket. "Sort of."

"Puck, you said you would!"

"Don't worry about it," he shrugs it off. "I still got a week left."

There's another pause the fills between them, and he takes the moment to light the cigarette; there's a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. "What happened?" Sarah asks, her voice impatient and _slightly_ amused.

"What?"

"Don't 'what' me, Puck," she scolds. "I only have a five minute break. I'm taking the night shift, so I don't have much time."

"You're at the diner?" he questions. "I thought you were taking night classes."

"Gotta pay rent somehow," Sarah mutters, her tone a bit sour. There's a small beat before she continues. "Seriously Puck, what happened there? Did you get arrested or something? Knock someone up? Did you see mom's ghost?" Her voice is mocking now, and he cusses lightly. "Come on. I'm going to find out eventually if I'm going to have to bail you out. Are you calling from jail?"

He hates how easily entertained she gets. After a long drag, he cusses a bit more, and Sarah laughs sourly. "I met someone," he says finally.

The other end is silent.

For a long time, neither of them saying anything. Gradually, Sarah starts to cuss a bit too, and Puck leans his forehead against the wall. "Fuck," she mutters. "You're so fucked." He doesn't respond, because what is there to say? He breathes into the phone and watches the smoke colide with the speaker. "Well," Sarah begins again. "What's she like? It _is_ a she, right?"

Puck knits his eyebrows. "She's..." He struggles for the right words, but Sarah already knows this; he's never been the most eloquent speaker. "She's lonely," he finally finishes. "But she makes things better for me, I think."

He can practically feel his sister smiling through the phone. "She sounds good for you."

"No," Puck says quickly. "I think she deserves better."

Sarah sighs. "When are you going to start to realize you're better than you think you are?"

"You don't get it."

"You're alive, Puck," she suddenly says very seriously. "And that's more than anyone can ask of you. Don't sell yourself short because this girl scares you. Maybe you scare her, too."

He exhales loudly and lets the tobacco burn his throat.

….

He's walking down the crowded streets of Athens alone, the cool air seeping into his skin. Greek flags hang from each market roof aligning the streets, and marmalade-light illuminates even the darkest of alleyways. He hears lively Greek music coming from just down another street, and as Puck approaches it, he sees a group of older men and women dancing around in a circle and holding hands.

He's read somewhere that Athens is one of the safest capitals in the world.

He couldn't feel more in danger.

Puck walks by a stall selling fish and silver jewelry when he decides to call it a night. He wanders down the block back to the hotel, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he kicks a few rocks under his feet.

It's when he makes it to the steps he sees Quinn staring directly at him.

She has her arms folded across her chest, hugging her sweater tightly around her body. The moonlight fills the space between them as he slowly moves in towards her, and he wonders what the Greek gods would think of them now. He wonders if they could fit in their tragedies.

He watches her blink up at him, her lips slightly parted and face crinkled. They stare at each other for a moment, and when Puck looks down at her, he realizes Sarah was right – maybe he deserves her.

"I think," Quinn begins very quietly. "I think I need you."

Maybe they deserve each other.

….

"Come here," he murmurs to her, and Quinn obeys almost instantly. She guides his hand down her abdomen and arches slightly as he presses against the damp heat between her thighs. He leans down and places two soft kisses on each side of her thigh, and when he slips his tongue in, a gasp is torn from her lips as she spreads her legs a little wider.

There's a new feeling between them.

Everything suddenly feels _new_.

Puck doesn't do _gentle_, but he has the sudden need to be extremely delicate. Like this is something so fragile that one wrong move can cause both of them to stumble.

So he takes it slow, stroking her gently before dragging his tongue up and down her slit. She's moaning softly, the sheets balled with her fists as he presses his tongue against her clit and feels it wither wildly. The noise she starts making makes his cock throb against her leg, and he circles his tongue more urgently. He slips a finger inside her and feels how aroused and swollen she is, and he drops his head on her inner thigh as he reaches down once more to taste her. She quakes under him as he rapidly flicks his tongue against her, and she's about to buck underneath him when he slides back on top of her.

Quinn curls her fingers on his shoulders, her face red and sweaty as she starts moaning his name repeatedly into his ear. "Fuck, Quinn..." he mutters and presses his lips onto hers. He rubs himself against her leg, and she reaches down to stroke him gently. Puck groans into her mouth as she circles the tip of him with her thumb, and he throws his head into the crook of her neck. "_Fuck_."

She's biting her lip, and after everything they've been through, he'll swear to his grave that she's some kind of angel.

And maybe the girl who is worth it requires all this effort.

"Make me feel good," she sort of pants, and when he positions himself, he enters slowly inch by inch. "Oh," Quinn breathes, her tone almost pleading. "Oh, my _god_." He continues to move in slowly, keeping a rhythm as she hooks one of her leg around him. He secures a hand on her hip and draws her in closer, stroking her thigh as she leans forward to capture a kiss.

Soon enough, she begins thrusting herself up to meet him, and he becomes so engulfed with such a state of possession, he frantically kisses her as much as she can. She moans into his mouth as he pumps a bit more urgently, and her breath becomes shorter as he starts whispering things he never thought he would say out loud. "You're beautiful," he admits. "You're fucking beautiful."

"Oh, god, _Puck_," Quinn suddenly gasps and throws her head back as she comes, and he follows soon after and lets the pleasure consume him as he collapses on top of her. She quickly wraps her arms around him when he rolls off, and he drags her into a soft, sweaty embrace.

Puck makes a promise to himself that he's not going to let go of her easily this time.

….

He wakes up the next morning and slips outside to get some breakfast.

When Puck returns back to the hotel room with two gyros in hand, he hears the shower turn on. He smirks slightly to himself and places their food on a table before sneaking himself into the bathroom.

When he opens the door of the shower, he finds Quinn fully clothed, balled in the corner with her arms wrapped around her knees. She's shaking, _sobbing_ uncontrollably, and Puck jumps in after her, the hot water pounding against his skin like bullets. He crouches towards her and wraps his arms around her figure, and he feels her shiver miserably against his chest.

"Shh..." he coos uncomfortably, and he hears her cry louder. "Quinn, it's okay. Shhh, stop, I'm here."

"Oh, God," she croaks, trembling erratically.

"Quinn," Puck whispers gently. "It's okay."

"Don't leave me, okay?" her voice shakes into him. "Please don't leave me."

He furrows his brows and pulls her in tighter, because now he knows he probably never will.

* * *

_Please review. Next chapter will be the last chapter of this story. :(_


	5. Paris

_The final installment. One of my favorite chapters I've written for any story. I'm stalling you right now, so ignore me! Enjoy, enjoy! :)_

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**Paris, France**

They run away together.

It's erratic and beautiful.

He lets her pick the destination as she closes her eyes, spins around three times, and points her finger at the map. They part from their tour group and hop on the next train to Paris.

It's fate, in a way, as they sit together in their compartment, her head on his lap as she sleeps quietly throughout the ride. He glances down at her a few times and realizes that, in a very unnerving thought, she's his.

And he's hers.

He feels a part of his heart open, like a hidden door he never knew existed, and it's not as scary as he thought it would be.

….

They walk everywhere. Sometimes their hands are intertwined, sometimes they're not. But they drink sweet beverages and smoke cigarettes and watch the sun rise. Their shoes click against cobblestone paths as they point out pretty things to each other – exquisite buildings, silly street performers, and quaint cafes.

They follow the gentle curve of the Seine, ignoring the existence of distinguished art museums and international landmarks. Puck and Quinn simply move in and out of streets and live in their passion, and that's more than enough.

And sometimes, she'll grab his hand, and they run from one end to the other, and now they're starting to realize they don't need to understand everything.

….

The only thing available to stay in Paris at such short notice is a tiny studio flat right on the outskirts of town. They take it and don't look back.

"I like it," she claims immediately, folding her hands against her legs as she tiptoes around the space.

"I think we'd have more room in the box down the street," he teases lightly.

"Yeah," she smiles up at him. "But this is ours."

….

Her favorite thing to do is shop through the fresh markets in the city, picking out organic foods and vibrant ingredients. At first, he tags along reluctantly because grocery shopping is so _boring_ in another language, but he soon realizes he likes watching her shop. She maneuvers between stalls, leans in to catch whiffs of certain fruits, and taps her bottom lip with her index finger.

Puck decides to make this a little more interesting.

He makes up a little game in his head. It's pretty simply actually: he'll nuzzle his face into her neck, plant butterfly kisses here and there, and then whisper some of the dirtiest shit he can possibly think of.

Her face is _priceless_ every time.

….

"Sunny Side up or scrambled?" she asks him, raising a frying pan in the air.

He grins at her and doesn't answer.

"Puck - " Suddenly, he leans in, his lips capturing hers. It throws her off guard and the frying pan clatters onto the floor with a loud _clang_! But both of them ignore it as she wraps her arms around his neck, and he lifts her onto the counter. Quinn yanks his shirt off him while he greedily peels off her dress, sweat accumulating between their shoulder blades as they collide their bare skin back together.

He runs circles on her silky stomach before grabbing her ass and thrusting her closer to him, and she arches and throws her head back with a soft laugh and a moan. Quinn wraps her legs around him as he sinks into her, and his breath skims over her lips as he kisses her fully on the mouth.

She makes hungry little whimpers with every delicious thrust, and when they come, it's a series of gasps and groans as they call out their names loud enough for every person in their building to hear. And then Quinn giggles in his ear, and it drives him so nuts that they do it again.

They both stop wearing clothes to breakfast.

….

They have a picnics under the Eiffel Tower at night, gazing up at the thousands of illuminated lights shining over their heads like fireflies.

She sips her red wine and takes a bite of her baguette and rambles on about recipes involving bacon.

He lies down on the grass, one hand behind his head and another on his chest, as he listens to the gentle rise of her voice. And after awhile, she'll lean back and lie down next to him as well, and they'll ignore the lit Eiffel Tower and count the stars instead.

….

They sit outside the Notre Dame and stare at it like its their old friend. He feels her shift next to him, and when he looks over, she gives him a stifled smile.

"You want to go inside?" he motions his head towards the cathedral, but she shakes her head.

"No," Quinn says. "I don't need to."

Suddenly, she reaches for his hand and wraps it in hers. She gives it a quick kiss before placing it on her lap and putting another hand on top of it. "You didn't kill your mom," she whispers, and he tenses around her words. "As much as you think you did, Puck, I know you didn't. I know it makes it easier when you can blame it on someone, but some people are just fragile. It has nothing to do with you," she tilts her head, "and I think it's time for you to start being okay again."

She toys with his hand in hers, her face slightly flushed against the sunlight. "I think we lose ourselves sometimes. I just remember waking up every morning and hating every single thing about myself... but I didn't know what to do. I kept trying to be all these different versions of me, and then I just lost myself completely, and I think I forgot what it was like to feel safe. I wanted so badly to give up, but..."

She stares him straight in the eye, and suddenly, she starts to smile. "I didn't know there was anyone out there like you. You were my favorite surprise. And when I finally realized you were going to be the one to glue me back together, I was so afraid because I never needed someone so much before. But you're just as broken as me, Puck. That's why this works. We need to fix each other."

He presses his lips against her temple and sighs.

Finally, something breaks free inside him.

….

"Puck! Shit, where have you been?" Sarah yells into the other end of the phone. "I've been trying to reach you for ages!"

"I'm in Paris," he replies plainly, rubbing a hand against his forehead.

He hears her sister sigh. "Okay," she mumbles, "but you were supposed to be back home a week ago. Didn't you get any of my calls?"

"My cell has been dead for the past couple of days."

"Puck," she begins seriously. "What is going on?"

"Things are okay now, Sarah," he says simply.

"Noah Puckerman!" she gasps. "Is that... _optimism_ coming from your mouth? Holy shit. Who fucked you over?"

"I don't know how long I'm going to stay here," he ignores her question, "but it may be awhile."

There's a beat before Sarah responds. "She must be really great, huh?"

"Yeah," he breathes after a second.

"I want to meet her someday," she beams into the phone. "See how she managed the impossible and made the tin man grow a heart." Puck hangs up to the sound of his sister's happy laughing voice.

….

When he wakes up first, he stays in bed and watches her sleep.

He felt creepy doing this at first, but now he can't help it.

He traces the line where her body meets the pillow, her pale skin slightly sinking together with the covers. Her lips always form this perfect little pink pout, slightly open as her chest rises and falls at a very peaceful rhythm.

Sometimes he follows it, breathing at the same pace just so he can feel a little more closer to her.

Her hair falls over the her bare shoulders like spilt honey when he rolls on top of her, and she stirs a bit and moans softly. He leans in and dresses kisses all along her neck, like he's trying to memorize the taste of her. And she smiles and holds him close, breathing in each other's scent as she puts a hand over his heart and feels it beat.

….

When she wakes up first, she usually leaves little notes all around the room.

He'll wake up to a post-it on the headboard that says "_Getting us croissants. I'll be back!"_

Or maybe a post-it on her pillow. "_You make cute noises when you sleep. I'm getting the laundry, I'll be back."_

Once, she stuck an index card to his forehead. How she managed to do that without waking him up, he'll never know. "_It looked really pretty outside, so I went for a walk. I'll be back."_

Truthfully, it doesn't matter where she goes.

She ends every note with _"I'll be back." _

And she always does.

And he'll always wait for her.

….

They sit in the bath tub, the bubbles rising just above their chests. She leans back against him, right in between his legs, as he massages her scalp carefully with the suds. Quinn moans lightly as she relaxes against his chest, letting her head fall back on his wet shoulder as she grabs the edge of the tub with both hands.

He pushes her hair aside and places a single kiss right under her ear, and then he kisses a trail down the nape of her neck, past her spine, and between her shoulder blades. His hand plunges into the water as he continues to burn kisses into her spine, and when he lets one finger slip inside her, he feels her shiver against his chest. He eases in another, and she starts muttering "oh, oh, oh" as he kisses his way back up her shoulder blade.

Quinn takes her time when she washes him. She's much more careful, more _thorough_ as she concentrates on every part of him, running her fingers along his skin and kissing the spots she's cleaned extra well. She always bites her bottom lip, straddling him as she lifts herself up a little higher every time. When she raises some bubbles to clean the back of his neck, he leans forward and kisses the patch of skin between her breasts.

And his favorite part is when he suddenly eases inside her and she gasps surprisingly and clings onto his chest. He'll hold her hips and let the suds dance around them as she sinks into him repeatedly, her soft whimpers like a sweet song he's grown to love so much.

….

They take a trip down to Bordeaux and ride their rental bicycles through the vineyards.

Quinn stops suddenly by a small pond, letting go of her bike with a loud _clunk_ as she maneuvers towards a small cluster of ducks. Puck bikes around in a few circles before eventually following after, and as he settles down next to her, he watches a small smile form on her lips. They both sit silently for a moment, pondering the fate of the aimless ducks, and they wonder if they've got it right this whole time. You have to be lost before you can find someplace beautiful.

He feels her eyes fall onto him. "Let's say the world was going to end right now," Quinn gazes softly. "What do you do?"

After a beat, Puck takes her left hand in his and pulls her up from the ground. He places one hand on her hip and locks the other one with her fingers, and they sway under the setting sun and watch the group of ducks fly away into the sky.

...

Sometimes, they just in the outdoor cafes and watch the people walk by. Quinn's given up smoking (_"I thought it was me. Didn't it look like someone I could be?"_), so she just sips on some sweet cafe au lait and talks to him about anything she can possibly think of, her words vibrant and full of life.

And then she'll lean in, give him a light kiss, and flutter her eyelashes against his cheek.

It's little moments like that that remind him he's so alive.

….

They rush into their flat, the sting of pouring rain still present on their skin as they both shiver slightly from the chill. The studio is just as cold, and as Puck moves over to the window to let some fresh air in, he smells the rain from outside seep in.

He peels off his jacket to dry himself, and when he reaches for his undershirt, he feels two arms wrap tightly around his waist. He looks over his shoulder to see Quinn clutching onto him, her face buried into his shoulder blade. Slowly, he drops his jacket and puts a hand over her arm.

She hugs him tighter, as if trying to absorb all his pain and make it her own.

"We will take care of each other now," she whispers into him, "won't we?"

And somewhere along the road, he doesn't see it happen. She puts all of his pieces back together and he does the same for her, and now, for the first time, they can be whole.

He doesn't know if this is love, because he's never felt that before. Maybe it's because they're in Paris, and everyone is in love in Paris. Maybe it's because Paris is the city of love.

But maybe, if you look hard enough, you'll find the world is full of cities of love.

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_There you have it! I hope you enjoyed reading "Cities of Love" as much as I did writing it! Is it weird that this story even made me tear up a bit? _

_I want to thank every single person who took the time to read and review this story. Your support means the world to me, and it's you guys that made me write this fic in the first place! I hope you all enjoyed reading it, and once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. _

_Please review, and have a marvelous day._


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